AN: Yes, it's been months, but I've finally updated. I was indefinitely banned from the computer after an incident involving myself, mum's car, a handbrake, a hill, and my granny's house. But not to worry, because I'm back, and the wall has been fixed. Please tell me what you think of this chapter.

Sirius Black was obviously insane. There was no way Peter could be a rat, unless he was actually the freckly, red-haired boy. If so, then he'd only have been about two years old when he sold his best friends out to Voldemort and that wasn't really likely. Therefore, the only natural conclusion was that the twelve years spent in Azkaban had driven Sirius over the Edge of Normalcy.

'Sirius,' I began, in my soft, consoling voice. 'That's a rat.' He looked at me as though I had told him that Azkaban was grey. Which is obvious. Obviously.

'I know that. But I never told you that Peter is an Animagus, did I?' he replied, sticking his tongue out at me. I hovered there with a blank expression on my face. He was rather disappointed that I wasn't responding to this apparently astounding revelation.

'You don't know what an Animagus is, do you?' His face fell as I shook my head, and then brightened considerably at the prospect of explaining something about his past. 'Well, it's a wizard that can turn into an animal. Peter…is a rat!' he exclaimed, beaming when I finally comprehended the magnitude of this.

'So…that's how he faked his death? It all makes sense now,' I said, thinking back to our previous conversations.

'Is everything ready?' he asked me and rolled his eyes at my vacant appearance. It's not my fault: the bloke has a habit of changing the topic to something completely different at the drop of a hat. 'Are all systems go to bust me out?' he repeated, annoyed.

'Oh, right, yeah,' I said distractedly, not really listening to what he was saying.

A tall, lithe figure had just appeared at the end of the hallway. It floated along towards me, looking from cell to cell nervously. As it came closer, it was revealed that it was a she.

'Oh, hello,' she said timidly. 'The Elders sent me to let you know there's a meeting at nightfall.' She had a melodious tinkle in her voice, as though several bells had become lodged in her throat (but in a nice way). 'I'm Greethl, by the way.'

'Yeah, thanks. I'm Boris,' I said, holding out my hand for her to shake. She looked at it, confusion clear on her face. I'd forgotten that that was a human custom (Sirius taught me), and therefore one frowned upon by the Elders. 'Erm…I'll be there?'

She gave off a feeling of amusement. 'See you there.'

She drifted back down the corridor, and I couldn't help but watch her go. A wolf-whistle sounded form behind me and I spun around to see Sirius with a mischievous look on his face.

'You laaaiiiiike her,' he said, stressing the "like". I ignored him, but then he started singing some ridiculous song with an accompanying Irish jig and I just had to do something.

'Gah!' I yelled, and threw up my hands. I wasn't expecting it to work, but strangely enough, he fell silent. I think it may have been because he was relying on me to get him out of this hell-hole. Speaking of which…

'Well, Greethl just told me there's to be a meeting at nightfall,' I said. 'So that's the best time you could get for escape.'

'Ooh, Greethl. Is that her name? Pretty name, innit?' Sirius had gone back to the teasing. He nudged my through the bars. 'Bet you go all fuzzy when you hear her name, eh? Melt at the heart and all that.'

I biffed him over the head. 'Shouldn't you be more worried about your escape from Azkaban?'

He tapped his nose wisely. 'Ah, but there are more important matters at hand. After all, wittle Bowis has a cwush. What's your plan of attack?' There we go; another change of topic.

'I thought we agreed that I'd just give you some extra robes from the prison stash and you'd become a Lady Dementor of the Night.'

Sirius tutted in exasperation. 'No, you idiot, how do you plan on asking her out? Or whatever it is you do. Is there some kind of Dementor Disco Dance you can invite her to? With a shimmy, stomp, flap and head bob?' Terrifyingly, Sirius started dancing around the cell…with a shimmy, stomp, flap and head bob. It wasn't half bad, actually.

'No, there isn't a Dementor Disc Dance. Dementors don't dance. And why would we dance on a disc of all places?'

I wasn't about to tell him that we had a Christmas party the year Voldemort fell. There was a rush of new prisoners, and we all got a bit tipsy on memories. The details are a little hazy, but I distinctly remember streamers and the Muggle macaroni dance. Shudder. Or is it the macareno? Ah well, these things get lost in translation and drunkenness.

'Dementors don't dance? C'mon Boris, get groovy! Break it down!' said Sirius with a pelvic thrust.

'Sirius,' I began. He nodded at me, still gyrating with a vengeance. 'Stop that. It's creepy.'

He stopped. Thank Dementro. If he'd kept going, I may have had to stab him. Not a fatal wound, just one that would incapacitate him for a while. Maybe I could take out his kneecaps…moving on.

'Now, if you've had quite enough of attempting intercourse with the air, can we get on with the serious business of your escape?'

Sirius gave me a thumbs up. 'Of course. I always put business before intercourse. I can be serious. Serious is my middle name…actually, it's my first name. Hahahahaha!!!!'

Oh dear. I could almost hear the excessive exclamation marks hang around in the air. He really was starting to go nuts. Who am I kidding? He's gone nuts. In fact, I think he's the leader of the nuts. I have to distract him before he has a complete nervous breakdown.

'Lamest joke I've ever heard. Seri – honestly,' I said. For once, he had nothing to say back to me. Yes, I shut him down! Score one for me.

A sly smile crept onto Sirius' face. I think I thought too soon. He started to casually tap his fingers against his thigh as he slowly walked closer to me.

'You are wrong there. There was a particularly bad one during the war that went: Where did You-Know-Who keep his armies? Up his sleevies,' Sirius chuckled. 'But, the lamest joke on record is officially: A man walked into a bar and said ouch,' he said.

I couldn't help it. I cringed.

Dementor meetings aren't quite the depressing, sombre get togethers that you might expect. In fact, sometimes they're more of a group therapy fiasco: a babble of voices sharing memories, cravings, psychopathic urges…you name it. The unusual thing about that though, was that they weren't our memories. More often than not we shared them so that we could discover weaknesses in the prisoners. That way we could make sure that their very worst memories were replayed over and over.

It's tougher than you think to be a Dementor. There's a lot of repetition involved. Contrary to popular belief, we don't actually keep happy memories forever. They go back to their owners once we've digested them and got all the nutrients out. There, they become re-infused with all the juicy feelings that make a memory a memory, and the whole process starts again. People just think they've lost their memories because they figure they won't know which memory it is because they can't remember it. Twisted logic, that is.

The banging of a gavel jerked me out of my thoughts. It was a gavel unlike any other, made of fossilised…bits. It made a noise like a coffin lid slamming with a fatal finality. It was futile to try to keep talking after you heard that gavel. You're mouth just refused to open again, as though it was scared that something might get in through there.

'I call this meeting to order,' said the deceptively high pitched yet gravelly voice of the High Elder. He drifted shakily back to his position and the podium was taken over by the Elder that had ordered me to guard Sirius' cell.

Speaking of Sirius, we had decided that he would try to slip out during the meeting. I had given him a key – which was to be left be the gate for me to retrieve later. I doubted he would encounter any Dementors as we were all at the meeting.

'I wish to speak to all of you about a matter of grave importance,' boomed the Elder with a dramatic arm gesture.

The gesture was lost to most, but not me. Sirius, after getting sick of being creeped out by my hideous ankles, decided to slash two holes in my robe at knee height. Now I could see without attracting too much attention. It was a bit draughty, but I felt a lot less exposed.

'What is this matter of great importance,' we intoned in unison. Greethl's throat-bell voice stood out to me amongst the rest.

'Well, the matter of great importance is that a confiscated, black robe and a rubber duck have gone missing,' he said with such great intensity that we all drifted further back a bit.

I panicked a little. I had taken the robes. I had no idea who would want the duck. I tried to shrink and make myself less visible. It wasn't too hard, most people didn't notice me anyway.

'As you all know, the Minister's party came to the prison the other day. We have fairly solid information that one of his aides was seen near the Vault Room.' We snickered at the mention of the minister. It was obligatory.

'This must mean…' piped up one young Dementor before trailing off.

'Yes,' said the Elder. 'We enact Plan 1.23 Little Footnote At The Bottom.' He nodded wisely.

A gasp rippled through the assembled crowd. What he was referring to was a plan more commonly known as "Snarky Comments and Strategic Rumours". It was one of our most dangerous. Dementors are perfectly well-renowned for sucking out souls, but a Dementor practising subterfuge? Now that's scary.

The meeting was finished after only one topic. It was time for the refreshments, which was always looked forward too. The choicest memories were stacked in vials on a trestle table, before they were unstoppered and tossed back like shots of whisky. I decided against having one; I'm a mean drunk.

I looked around for Greethl. I spotted her on the other side of the room, sipping a particularly cheerful memory. I began drifting towards her, and I think she could sense me coming because she turned around. A flicker of hope grew inside me. I was about to wave to her when Fester sidled in out of nowhere and put his deteriorating arm around her waist.

I changed course and headed for the window. It gave a decent view of the ocean below . I looked out of it for what felt like hours until I distinguished a four-legged, robed creature splash out into the water. It seemed Sirius had grown some extra legs in the space of an hour.

Wait...what?